The Caged Bird
by DinoDina
Summary: Peter had never liked Transfiguration. Oneshot. Written for QLFC.
**Written for QLFC Round 2
Team: **Wigtown Wanderers  
 **Position:** Beater 2  
 **Prompt:** Transfiguration, write about someone's hatred for the subject  
 **Additional Prompts:** 3\. (word) procrastinate, 13. (word) articulate  
 **Words:** 1048

 **Linebreaks signify the passage of time. Thank you to** abbytemple **,** short-and-satanic **, and a real-life person for beta-ing.**

Peter Pettigrew's first impression of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was that it was large. That was it, that one word— _large._ He'd never seen something so vast, and Diagon Alley paled in comparison. The stones of the castle were large, the gates were large, the Gatekeeper was large, the Great Hall was large, and Dumbledore's beard was longer than his mother was tall.

Peter wasn't a very large boy at the time, just a bit on the dumpy side, and the people he'd met on the train were all taller than him. He hoped they'd end up in the same House, mostly because they seemed nice. They also seemed smart, and he _really_ wasn't, so he hoped they'd be able to help him.

The Deputy Headmistress looked at him shrewdly when he made his way up to the stool, which caused Peter to almost trip. Luckily, he didn't, but the Hat took its sweet time Sorting him, and he was sure they'd have to come up with a new shade of red to describe his embarrassment.

But Lupin and Black were waiting for him at the table, and the Hat had barely even touched Potter's head before it yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Peter's mother had always talked about the classes she'd taken. But when his House-mates started talking about getting their schedule, and their excitement and trepidation, Peter could only think of the Poor she'd gotten in OWL Transfiguration.

* * *

Transfiguration was Peter's first class the next day, and he ended up sitting with Remus, right behind James and Sirius. They had the class with the Slytherins, and, after being on the receiving end of several jeers, Peter made sure to stay with his friends.

The talking ceased, naturally, when Professor McGonagall walked into the room. She was more imposing in class than she was during the Sorting Ceremony, but she smiled at the end of her speech before turning into a tabby cat.

James and Sirius applauded, the latter even standing up and cheering. Flattered, she told them to sit down. When they didn't, she deducted five points from Gryffindor. When the two turned to Peter and his partner, Peter realized that he was now lumped in with the troublemakers, no matter how smart they turned out to be.

* * *

Three classes later, Peter hadn't turned his toothpick into a needle. He wasn't fooled by the absence of Slytherin teasing, because he'd seen his friends threatening them.

Still, seeing McGonagall's face when she looked at his failure made Peter consider mailing a letter to the people that made up color names—they would now not only have to make up one shade of red, but two.

* * *

McGonagall was his head of House, Peter thought despondently when he got his marks back at the end of the year. Transfiguration was the worst, not because he didn't put effort into it, but because he just _couldn't do it_.

She gave him a lecture and a pitying look, before promising to write a letter to his mother that he _was_ trying, honest.

* * *

In second year, Peter learned how to turn a bird into a goblet. The incantation and wand movements were simple, but he almost had to go to the Hospital Wing because of the severity of the raven bites he'd received.

Still, he had a goblet, even if it was a bit feathery and squawked accusingly at him every few minutes.

By that time, he was used to the disappointed glances McGonagall would throw at him, and at how resigned she was when she told him he needed outside help. But also by that time, he had stopped caring about how her lips would thin when she looked at his results, and how she would sigh, just slightly, when he sloppily signed his name on a test.

His goblet was collected with the rest, and stood out against their shine. Peter wondered when they would be turned back into birds. _That's the last thing I want to be_ , he thought. _I'd probably get stuck like that if someone had to transfigure me._

* * *

He had scraped by with a Poor on Transfiguration OWLs, a far cry from James, Sirius, and Remus's O's. McGonagall had said it was due to how much he'd procrastinated on his studies, but that wasn't true. James and Sirius wasted just as much time as he did, and they were at the top of the class!

Either way, Peter wasn't continuing to NEWT Transfiguration, and that was for the better. He was sick of failing at a simple spell, sick of having to sit next to Remus to keep the Slytherins at bay.

* * *

Peter's friends were in Transfiguration when Snivellus approached him. He had to have been skipping the class, which was odd, because he was a model student.

And then he started talking, about seeing other Slytherins, and sneaking away from his friends during a Hogsmeade trip to talk at the Hog's head, and Peter wished that his friends hadn't abandoned him to go to class, because he had no idea what to say to Snivelly.

* * *

Living as Scabbers wasn't easy.

There were times when Peter forgot his real name, when he forgot that he could walk on two legs and that he had opposing thumbs. There were also times when he felt safe enough to transform back into a human, only to be stopped by someone rousing from sleep or entering the room.

Percy Weasley was one of the brightest people he'd ever met, if a bit uptight. No, scratch that. _Very_ uptight. He used words like "malcontent" and "articulate" at age eleven, and not even Sirius had been that aristocratic.

Percy never made a mistake when he had to use Scabbers duringTransfiguration—unlike Ron, and that was the worst 23 hours of his life—and always apologized if he handled his pet too abruptly.

For the first time in years, Peter remembered the bird he'd barely turned into a goblet, the first time he'd considered himself absolutely hopeless at something. He'd given up on Transfiguration then, hated it even, because it only reminded him of his own worthlessness. He thought of the bird, how he'd pitied it because it'd been trapped.

Peter was trapped now, and he asked that bird, quietly, "Are you happy now?"


End file.
